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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169507">The Closet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteandillusion/pseuds/Suvroc'>Suvroc (cuteandillusion)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bastille Outfit, Blow Jobs, But They Are Still Figuring Stuff Out, Closets, Come Shot, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), FSU Jacket, Facials, Handcuffs, Identity Issues, LGBTQ Themes, Little Bit Of Praise Kink (As A Treat), Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Meditation On The Power Of Fashion, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Secrets, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex with All Their Clothes On (Technically), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:20:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteandillusion/pseuds/Suvroc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale had a secret closet. Crowley wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was willing to listen. Slowly it dawned on him – he had one too.</p><p>Written for <a href="https://twitter.com/OurSideZine/status/1315252405261553664">Our Side Zine: Coming Out 2020 </a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Our Side Zine: Coming Out 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Closet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’d been sharing the cottage for quite some time before Crowley discovered the closet.<br/>
<br/>
It had been an ordinary day, highlighted only by the fact that Crowley had returned early from a jaunt across the Pond, hoping to surprise Aziraphale with his presence. (Well, that, and an impromptu wine tasting and maybe a bouquet of flowers. Nothing much. Just a token really. Oh… and the ice cream. Hm.)<br/>
<br/>
One of the grandest things about being a freelance demon was that he was no longer tied to assignments handed down from his superiors. Neither of them were. He could (and did) relish whole great lengths of time off in the home they’d made for themselves by the sea, experimenting with creation by way of nightly meals (he told Aziraphale he came up with all the recipes himself, but in actuality, he’d been painstakingly learning his way through Leyel and Hartley’s “The Gentle Art of Cookery”), puttering around the front flower and back vegetable gardens, and generally enjoying relaxation overtake his bones for the first time in what felt like eons.<br/>
<br/>
But when, as happened sometimes, he got that old oily sensation that said <em>go and make some trouble</em>, generally after a dinner fell flat, or when the tomatoes didn’t respond to his demands (vegetables, unlike houseplants, seemed more susceptible to anxiety-induced issues), he was free to skip off to wherever he felt needed his intervention most. This time it had been to the West Coast of the United States, first to Santa Monica to sink some yachts, then up to Cannon Beach to ruin some vacationers’ photographs.<br/>
<br/>
It definitely wasn’t as easy as faking a report to cover the fact he’d spent a goodly amount of his time flouncing about a winery and then taste-testing regional ice creams in search of the perfect gift to bring back, but it was much more fulfilling to do something he knew was worth-while. He and Aziraphale kept quite close tabs on, not necessarily the balance of good and evil in the world, but the balance in all humans individually. They were drawn to certain areas through the overwhelming need to support each and every soul’s ability to practice their own free will. That was the key.<br/>
<br/>
Although he wasn’t completely comfortable doing them out in the open yet, he still worked in a quiet miracle or two on his occult business trips. This time he inspired the dairy owner to make a new violet marmalade custard <a href="#violet" id="violetback" name="violetback"><sup>1</sup></a>(which he then bought), and blessed a harried dockworker with the strength to carry on another day. (Just because they had free will didn’t mean they couldn’t use a little boost).<br/>
<br/>
He returned to the cottage feeling content, with that magnificent diamond-sharp word on his mind: freedom. He put the ice cream in the freezer and set the wine on the kitchen countertop, glancing around to see if Aziraphale was settled into one of his regular positions either at his desk or snug in his downstairs reading chair. No such luck. Crowley tucked the flowers into the crook of his arm and ascended the stairs to the bedroom.</p><p>The door was open, so he popped his head inside, rapping on the doorframe as he did so.<br/>
<br/>
“Guess who’s home?”</p><p>“Crowley!”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale’s exclamation rang out across the room, just as Crowley caught a glimpse of a feature of the house he was pretty positive did not exist in the original blueprint. Aziraphale snapped once and leaned back onto the wall where, moments before, a door had been.<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t expect you home yet!” he said without poise. “Whatever happened?”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley was slightly stunned at the angel’s reaction. He let his eyes wander around the room, but nothing else appeared amiss.<br/>
<br/>
Thinking back, he realized that there had been other times Aziraphale had glanced secretively over to that space. They shared the bed on a fairly regular basis; Crowley sleeping and Aziraphale reading, or the both of them traversing various avenues of intimate exploration. (It had turned out that the stuffy tartan-wearing bookseller could be downright debauched when he put his mind to it.) Sometimes, as they reclined or recovered, Aziraphale would gaze into that empty corner of the room, and Crowley had absently wondered why. What had stopped him from asking was the fact that they were still their own individuals, and had been for so long, that it wasn’t in either of their natures to question each other’s strange habits.<br/>
<br/>
Deciding for the moment to ignore what Aziraphale quite obviously hadn’t wanted him to see, Crowley pulled the bouquet out from where he cradled it and thrust it forward. “Decided to come back early,” he said. Aziraphale remained frozen, but his gaze drew towards the flowers. “Missed you too much. Everything out there made me think of you.”<br/>
That did it. Aziraphale’s whole posture melted, his shoulders falling to a more loose and comfortable position, his head tilting and his lips (glory be, the curve of his lips) setting themselves to a tender smile.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, they are beautiful.” He stepped over to where Crowley stood and plucked them from his grasp. With a gentle sigh, he wrapped one arm around Crowley’s waist and drew him in. “I missed you, too.”<br/>
<br/>
The kiss that followed all but wiped the sudden materialization, and then disappearance, of what had appeared to be a secret closet door from the demon’s mind.<br/>
<br/>
Almost.<br/>
<br/>
“No problem. Sorry to startle you. Everything alright?” He glanced back at the wall.</p><p>“Yes. Of course.”<br/>
<br/>
Evidently, the angel didn’t want to talk about it, so Crowley was more than happy to leave it be and not press the issue. Still, a scratchiness in his throat made him pause.<br/>
“Mmmallright. If not, you let me know.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale’s smile wavered, and he leaned in close. His words were all but lost in the lapels of Crowley’s jacket, but he heard them nonetheless. “I will.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>So. Aziraphale had a magic closet. Now he knew of its existence, Crowley had no clue what to make of it, or of Aziraphale’s cautious nature regarding it. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t gnaw at him a little, but it was sealed away, unable to be viewed, so he tried to put it out of his mind until Aziraphale was ready to share. <em>If</em> he wanted to share.<br/>
<br/>
Perhaps it would have stayed secret for a great deal longer, had Crowley not, a few weeks later, had such a mortifyingly egregious evening. He’d already been in a snit after his attempt at Épinards au Sucre failed to set, turning more to runny scrambled eggs than quiche. Then it was raining again, and getting colder, and something in the way the English atmosphere settled onto him like a dank woolen blanket put him further into a mood. He scowled and stalked around the bookshelves, feeling itchy.<br/>
<br/>
When he tried to feel out where he might go off to flip some trash bins or swipe some ill-gotten artwork, his brain was hit with a buzzing headache. The volume of problems in the world was toying with his psyche: disease, natural disasters, and despair all seemed to counteract the ability of the humans to follow their own choices. When Aziraphale asked pointedly if he was planning on “gallivanting off again to do your demonic duty” in such a way that made it sound like an outside force still controlled his movements (he knew that probably wasn’t what he meant, but it still rubbed him the wrong way) it all bound together to make him lose his cool.<br/>
<br/>
He hated losing his cool.<br/>
<br/>
“You got a problem with me going off to do demon things?” he asked, planting himself in the centre of the room.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale seemed to take the outburst in stride. “Of course I don’t have a problem with it.” He turned the page of his book, peering over the rims of his readers. “You can’t help it. It’s what you are.”<br/>
<br/>
“Wait.. What? Who gave you the right to tell me what I am?” He tried not to raise his voice, he really did. But he did. Possibly, raise it. “Okay, wait, no. That’s not… That’s not what this is about.” He took a few physical steps back. “I’m just feeling out of sorts right now.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale looked over at him with more focus and removed his glasses. A change washed over his face as he set them aside, something sour and anxious. “Oh my dear,” he said, and his voice sounded choked off. He ran his hands over his face, then dropped them to his lap.<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t mean it. It’s not what I meant,” Crowley said. “Maybe I should go.”</p><p>“No, please don’t. I had no right to say that.”<br/>
<br/>
“No, no, no. No biggie. I get it. I mean, I am, you know, a demon, but like...” He found himself rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “That doesn’t mean the same thing anymore. Not to me.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale’s eyes were huge. From above, there was the unmistakable click of a latch, and then the creek of a door slowly opening. He tilted his head up, then back to look at Crowley.<br/>
<br/>
“I believe it’s about time I showed you something,” he said quietly, and stood.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Crowley was in the bedroom staring at the newly exposed closet door which stood ajar. He searched his angel’s face for any further information but was only afforded a slight nod. He walked up to the door. It was just that. A plain wooden door. Nothing off or odd about it. He grasped the handle and pulled it fully open.<br/>
<br/>
There were… a lot of clothes. Any theater buff, antique dealer, or archivist would wet themselves with excitement to peer at what the closet contained. It was very deep, a walk-in really, stretching the boundaries of reality to encompass all it contained. Crowley glanced back, and Aziraphale motioned him forward. He walked into the display, gazing at each of the many racks before him.<br/>
<br/>
"I go in here sometimes and rearrange things. By color. Or by texture. Or by time period. Or...” He came up behind Crowley. “By the memories they contain.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s quite the collection,” Crowley said, not knowing what else to say.</p><p>Aziraphale bit his lip. “Do you know why I kept all this? Do you know why I’m showing it to you?”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley touched a robe hanging right in front of him. He knew it to be old, the weave was fine but loose, and he could tell the actual fibres were being held together by angelic force, lest it fall to dust. He flipped the fabric over in his hands and saw a glint of gold. Folding the edge over, he saw a winged pin clipped to the shoulder.<br/>
<br/>
He recognized it.<br/>
<br/>
“This is from Rome.” He said, astounded. “You wore this when…”<br/>
<br/>
“When we went to Petronius’—yes.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley’s mind whirled, the clothing suddenly feeling very heavy in his hands, not with weight, but with meaning. Petronius. The oysters. The shell of one Crowley had saved and still had secreted away in a box of his own. <br/>
<br/>
“If you recall, I invited you. That was the first time I did that. And I liked it. That’s when I started to realize I wasn’t like other angels.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley wanted to take Aziraphale in his arms. Wanted to pull him in close and protect him from all the times they hadn’t been able to be together—not as they were now. Wanted to lock those memories away and forge new ones in their place. But he could see the angel was struggling to say something, and so he waited. He had to drop the edge of the Roman toga, however, for it showed his shaking too much.<br/>
<br/>
“You, my dear, have your art, your souvenirs, out on display. You look at them. You seem comfortable with them. I have hidden much of my thoughts and dreams away here. But since you and I have come together, since we have been living here in this cottage, I have felt the weight of these memories and these feelings on my conscience, and I needed to show you.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley sat with his words. He looked around at the sheer number of outfits in the closet. There were lifetimes worth.<br/>
<br/>
“I get stuck sometimes, in the past,” Aziraphale said. “I get stuck on decisions I have made that don’t fit the world as we know it anymore. And I fear the real me… the… person I want to be gets lost.”<br/>
<br/>
“I guess it's sort of confusing. What we are now,” Crowley mumbled. “I’m sorry I snapped.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s alright.” Aziraphale smiled, but his eyes looked pained. “Couples fight.” Crowley let out a breath. “I want to show you my favorite outfit; may I?”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course,” Crowley managed.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale’s full-figured form brushed past him and cut through one of the rows. He made a beeline over to one side which held a rack with only a few items on it. A pair of very memorable shoes sat on the lower shelf. Crowley glanced from Aziraphale to the outfit and back again.<br/>
<br/>
“I should have guessed.”<br/>
<br/>
“I, er. Well. It was very well made. Hard to find anything like it anymore. Especially the shoes.”<br/>
<br/>
“When was the last time you wore it?”<br/>
<br/>
With a hesitant movement, Aziraphale turned. “Oh, it’s not about wearing it, my dear. It’s about the craftsmanship, the memory of it. The feel and the look all together. The memories woven into those threads.” He let his fingers play along the ruffled edges of the outfit he had worn in his cell at the Bastille. “They make me feel more like me. More like the me I always want to be.”<br/>
<br/>
“And how‘s that?” Crowley asked, then amended, “If you want to share.”<br/>
<br/>
The angel blushed. He moved his hand and touched the buttons of the coat, rolling one between his fingers. “Fearless, I suppose. Important. Reckless. …sexy.” He looked up. “A bit… rebellious.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley pursed his lips. He thought back to their time in Paris. Of the glimpse he’d had of Aziraphale in that outfit, all frills and satin. He had been a vision. Slightly outdated of course, but that was who Aziraphale was—never one to settle into something unless he was truly comfortable. Crowley knew clothes. He loved their changeability, but he also understood fashion’s power to give someone an outlet to their grandest desires. The avenue to be who they really, truly, deep down wanted to be.<br/>
<br/>
And, of course, there had also been the shackles. His mouth went dry.<br/>
<br/>
“You were,” he spoke slowly, “if I dare to remember, at peak bastard at that moment, were you not? I assume you had to miracle this back to England off a corpse.”<br/>
<br/>
“What a horrible thing to bring up!” Aziraphale exclaimed. Then, with a sideways smirk, he shook his head. “But that is why we are here. No, of course not. The executioner had a miraculous escape from the guillotine when young Pierre got his feet tangled in the ropes. Jean-Claude was a changed man after that.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I am still an angel; God knows how. But what you said downstairs, that it doesn’t feel like it means the same thing anymore, I realized, it doesn’t to me either.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thanks,” Crowley stated, “I mean, for telling me. For showing me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, well.” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “It’s so long overdue I wondered if I’d ever find the courage. I have been carrying this around with me, in one way or another, for long enough by myself. I am a bit of a late bloomer, I’m afraid.” He looked around. “Rather a silly thing, me trying to hide this from you.”<br/>
<br/>
“No. S’alright. I know you run on your own schedule.” Crowley reached out and stroked down Aziraphale’s arm, laying his hand to rest on his clenched grip. “So, you don’t put these on?”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale tipped his chin into his chest. “Well, not exactly. Mostly I like to come in here and look. And think. And remember. I kept a closet in the bookshop too you should know. Books carry memories, but these clothes, they were ones I wore here on Earth. They were on display for all the world." He faltered. "For you. And some days, I would wander in, and I would wonder what things could have been like had I the courage to be true to what I know now.”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t think it works that way,” Crowley mused, and then wondered if he should have. The angel looked up hopefully, so he continued. “It’s a process. We didn’t know then what we know now. And there were, you know, mitigating circumstances.”<br/>
<br/>
“That may be, but I still feel like I’m admitting how untruthful I was to you for so long. I feel like I should have known who I was and what I wanted.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley couldn’t hold back anymore. He couldn’t not touch him. He stepped up and brought his body close, felt Aziraphale lean in to bring them together. “It’s a big deal to figure these things out for yourself. Identity… things.”<br/>
<br/>
“Mmmm.” Aziraphale shifted his weight, and Crowley (who had wrongly been called 'Crawley' before he'd figured his own things out) moved with him. “I wish it didn’t need to be. But I can’t ignore it. I can’t ignore…”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley touched his side lightly, wanting so badly to hold him.<br/>
<br/>
“For so long, I thought this was all wrong. I was told this was…” Aziraphale grimaced. “That this was not how an angel was supposed to behave.” His eyes were like washed river rocks, grey and wet, but solid, sure. “It was you. I loved you. I love a demon.” He took a deep breath. “I’m attracted to a demon. I am attracted to you, Crowley, in every possible use of that word, as whatever sort of demon you deem yourself to be, in every gender alignment you choose to use or sexual construction you wear. I supposed if I were to need to describe it to a human, I would use the label pansexual. Panromantic.” With a finality, he spoke as if he had set something heavy down for all to see. “So there.”</p><p>Crowley couldn’t stop his shaking. The power that had radiated from Aziraphale as he spoke those truths into the open air was clear as day.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you upset?” Aziraphale asked.<br/>
<br/>
“Upset?” he gasped, “No, no, no. I’m in awe. Damn it, angel, if you could see how beautiful you are to me right now.”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh my darling, you must know. You are everything to me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Me?” He felt dizzy and wasn’t even certain why. Of all the things he could have thought to say right then, that was the word which escaped his lips.<br/>
<br/>
Regardless, the angel took it in stride and nodded happily. “You.” Finally, he pulled his worried hands apart and put them to Crowley’s waist. “You darling. Dark angel. Demon love. You. You, Crowley.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley collapsed into him, love and lust and pride and admiration all mixing and flowing together. He brought his trembling hands up and held Aziraphale’s face as if it were fragile, as if he dared himself not to. Aziraphale put his soft warm palms over the back of Crowley’s hands and pressed the shivers from him.<br/>
<br/>
They brought their lips together, both open-mouthed, and kissed madly, losing track of their grasp on one another, wanting nothing more than to be closer, closer still. They kissed, and it was hot with emotional release, wet and sweet as their tongues laid upon one another with that strange-soft shock that always came of such an intimate and human, bizarre and lovely thing.<br/>
<br/>
“I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know,” Crowley choked out from behind a besotted grin.<br/>
<br/>
“I still needed to say it.”<br/>
<br/>
“I know. I know. And calling yourself demonically-demi probably wouldn’t mean much to ‘em.”<br/>
<br/>
The sound of Aziraphale’s throaty chuckle and the sight of his true and wondrous smile made Crowley dissolve like candy floss in the rain. He hugged him tight and rocked him with a swaying motion. With a kiss to the side of his head, he murmured, “I’m here for you. You know that right? Whatever you need. I want to help.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, as if he were tasting the words and they were the most delicious thing he had ever asked for. “Thank you. I can say that now, can I?”<br/>
<br/>
Hesitant to break the mood, but full of a bubbling curiosity, Crowley asked, “So, when you say you don’t wear these outfits, does that mean you can’t or you won’t?” He continued the serpentine movement of their bodies, unable to stop the dip and press of his pelvis up against Aziraphale’s. “Because right now, if you would deign to don ye not-quite-gay apparel, I would quite honestly find you the most alluring, fearless, sexy angel on Earth. Or any plane of existence really.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale laughed again. “Oh you dear boy. You absolute fool.” He hugged him, enveloping every sharp point and angle of him with pillowed warmth. “Would you like to see me in it?”<br/>
<br/>
<em>Yes. Yes, I would. I will make you crepes afterwards and feed them to you while you are chained to the bed, my deepest, sweetest, most glorious angel.</em><br/>
<br/>
He swallowed. “I would.”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you have any outfits like that?”<br/>
<br/>
He pulled his imagination back from the brink. “Uhhh. Whatdoyoumean?”<br/>
<br/>
“One that makes you feel good. One that makes you feel like you.”<br/>
<br/>
Oh God. Er, whatever. Whoever. Oh hells. He did. He did indeed. It was scandalous. Even beyond silk hose and high heels.<br/>
<br/>
“I do.” It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought briefly of the ensemble in question as Aziraphale shared his secret historic costume collection. “It, er, is wot ya ah… anachronistic to yours.” To put it mildly, he thought.<br/>
<br/>
“That doesn’t matter, love.” He whispered the next request, the words ruffling the short hairs over Crowley’s ear, “If you wish, go and get into it, and I shall meet you in the bedroom.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley let a hungry growl escape his lips and leaned in to kiss Aziraphale again. “I’ll miss you.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll miss you too,” he said, his voice like syrup. “So hurry.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley was off like a shot.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Darting out of the closet and through the bedroom, he headed out the door. At the end of the upstairs hallway was his country study. It was less severe than his Mayfair office, but not by much. He stepped over the threshold and shut the door.<br/>
<br/>
There was no real reason for him to retire to his study to change; it was a force of habit. All of his clothing was miracled up anyways. He didn’t even have a real closet or wardrobe, but he did have a few articles of clothing, he now realized, that he’d kept the same throughout the ages. For fuck’s sake, he had his own hidden closet, didn’t he? He’d never really thought about it like that. He smiled ruefully and touched a finger to the wall. Well, time to bring it out in the open, he thought, and drew a line as if tracing a door. The lines shimmered, then etched themselves into existence. A handle formed itself from molten metal, rounding and becoming real. Might as well go all the way, he decided, and black hinges formed in the shape of bat wings. That fit. That was right. He turned the handle. <br/>
<br/>
The space behind the door looked like a traditional closet. There were items from past lives, past constructions, but also the most up-to-date fashion trends brought into existence with just a thought. He knew right where his item of choice was and pulled the hanger out with glee. He wondered if Aziraphale hazarded a guess as to what he’d wear, and his human heart beat a tattoo in his chest at the thought. He was going to reveal this to Aziraphale, not that it would be any big surprise, but the reveal was a little disconcerting. Still, if Aziraphale was willing to lay his own secrets bare, he felt like he had to be true to his own desires.<br/>
<br/>
He wanted to.<br/>
<br/>
He reached out and took hold of the lapels. Felt the heft of the piece of clothing in his hands. With a swooping movement, he slid into it, the ample arms enveloping him, the wide shoulders making him feel bigger, stronger. It had palpable power to it, it really did. He felt he could do anything, absolutely anything in this jacket. Grabbing the collar to bring it close to his nose, he inhaled, licking out into the air around the reflective patches and tasting mischief and malice, mud and conquest. He made a sound like Aziraphale did when he’d eaten a very fine piece of sushi, or a delectable bite of cake, and recoiled into himself. With a snap, he removed all the rest of his clothing, save for a strappy black g-string trimmed with lace.<br/>
<br/>
He ran his hands up and down his open jacket. God (fuck, he had to stop bringing the Almighty into this) what would Aziraphale think? Would he laugh? No. He hoped not. Laughter had its place, but this wasn’t meant to be funny. He soaked in the feeling the jacket gave him, and before he could have any more second guesses, left the room.</p><p>* * *</p><p>“Please come in,” came the angel’s voice.<br/>
<br/>
Crowley opened the bedroom door. “Hey.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale was seated on the bed, his satin-shoe clad feet resting delicately on the fine Austrian rug. His legs all but gleamed with the sheen of the sheer pink stockings. They rode over the hillocks of his knees and climbed up his thighs to tuck away under his breeches. Hands that had worked a thousand miracles were primly crossed on his lap, his shoulders rounded, and his head tilted up coquettishly. Crowley’s eyes grew wide as he realized (<em>by love and lord</em>) he’d touched his lips with a rosy shining pearlescent pink gloss, and when he moved, the light caught the edge with a gleam, making them look even more inviting. His lashes too seemed fuller, and his hair was fluffed like featherdown, haloing his round face, his flushed cheeks, his raised brows.<br/>
<br/>
Next to him, sitting on a pillow (<em>Satan be damned</em>) were a pair of handcuffs.<br/>
<br/>
Crowley stepped into the room. He kept walking until he had planted both feet firmly to either side of Aziraphale’s shoes, straddling his knees. Aziraphale moved nothing but his eyes to gaze up at him. The contrast of their outfits made the corner of his mouth twist up.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s been over two hundred years since I saw you like this.” His voice came rough and ragged. “Before we start, I want you to know, you look like a painting. You look like art. Like, the sexiest painting I ever wanted to have my way with. I was going to bring up restraints, but you seem to have beat me to it, so I’m assuming you’re okay with that plan.”<br/>
<br/>
“You know you released me too soon, back in 1793,” Aziraphale said tartly, letting the last syllable roll off his tongue.<br/>
<br/>
Crowley squeezed his legs together and undulated his hips, making them move in a figure eight. “If I hadn’t freed you when I did, we would have both been in a heap more trouble than we already were. That rude note thing was real. Imagine if I’d done something other than just free an angel.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well. I do understand. But that does mean that we have some unfinished business, and, if you are–” His eyes lowered to the level of the bulge at Crowley’s crotch. “–up to it, I would very much desire an extended replay of that valiant rescue.” He let his eyes drift back up. “What about you, my dear?”<br/>
<br/>
“I came dressed for it.” Crowley took hold of the edges of his jacket and tugged it sharply.<br/>
<br/>
“Wonderful.” Aziraphlae did not flinch. “Shall we use our standard safewords?”<br/>
<br/>
“Red for stop, green for go, yellow for pause and check in,” Crowley recited.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale nodded. He stretched one leg out, lifting his foot and pointing his toe. He bent his knee until it barely brushed against Crowley’s inner thigh, then set it back down. He looked as if he had not a care in the world as he reclined on his elbows, stretching his torso out on the bed. He tilted his head one way, then the other. “Thank you for wanting to do this. Now. Tell me. Why is this your favorite outfit?”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley’s bare knees bumped the edge of the bed, and he fell forward, bridging himself over Aziraphale’s body, the open edges of his jacket falling to either side of him. “I do my best work in this jacket. M25. BT Tower. This is who I want to be all the time: Clever. Confident. Competent.”<br/>
<br/>
“You are so much more than competent,” Aziraphale said, his voice low and smooth. Crowley felt a shiver travel over him, traversing his arms, up his spine, seeming to sparkle like a fine mist over his scalp. “I want you to rescue me, Crowley.”<br/>
<br/>
“And what else,” he asked, slowly beginning to lower himself, feeling the tickle of ruffles, flinching at the chill of the buttons as they touched his bare stomach.<br/>
<br/>
“I want you to capture me first. Take me,” he said, as he too sank all the way to the bed. He reached up to grasp Crowley’s forearms. “I want to be your prize. I want to be what you seek.” His eyes, filled with yearning, met Crowley’s golden stare. His gaze was like a saber, and, with a blink and a glance at the pillow by his side, he twisted the blade.<br/>
Crowley clenched his jaw in order not to gasp with want. He felt the twitch of his cock responding to the movement, and he let his head drift to the side as he looked down at the handcuffs on the cushion.<br/>
<br/>
“You want that?” he asked, needing reassurance. Hoping, wanting, all but praying for it.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh yes,” Aziraphale’s voice was like spreading soft butter on warm bread. “I want you in control. Take what you want. Show me it is I you desire.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley’s breath hitched. “I only ever wanted you, Aziraphale.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well then.”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not taking the jacket off.”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t want you to,” Aziraphale purred. “I will not remove my clothing either. But you may if you feel it hinders your ability to take.” He strained his neck to bring his head up. “Take from me. Please, I beg of you. Take your fill. Take more than you think you deserve.”<br/>
<br/>
Releasing Crowley’s arms, he turned his wrists over, bending his hands back and holding them up so that the lines of his tendons were bared. The white lace fell away, and Crowley was thrown back to a time when skin was hidden, and such an offering would have been borderline vulgar. Crowley dipped his head without thinking and placed his mouth to Aziraphale’s wrist. Nothing in the world tasted like his angel’s skin, all thin and tender. Greedily, he placed his tongue flat against it, wrapping his lips closed over the surface, lapping and sucking. Suckling. Biting ever so slightly. Something to nibble on.<br/>
<br/>
“You are good, my dear,” he praised, and Crowley felt himself starting to fray at the edges. “So good at that.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley rolled to the side and sat up, taking both of Aziraphale’s wrists by one hand. He let his fingers wrap around him, constricting his movement as he reached over to pick up the cuffs. “Don’t remember this bed having an iron headboard,” he tisked and shook his head. “You are something.” And then, “Do you say green?”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale merely stretched and let his eyes fall shut. “Green.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>They left the shoes on.<br/>
<br/>
The fastenings of his breeches were slowly undone, by nimble fingers and a clever tongue, and dragged down his thighs. Special attention was taken with the hose. After Crowley allowed himself the tactile devotion of running the whole length of himself over the silky surface of them, he started from the waistline and drew the silk stockings down with measured care, until the discarded clothing formed its own restraint around Aziraphale’s ankles.<br/>
<br/>
Now Crowley was taking him as deep as he could into his mouth, wide jaws all but unhinged. Beneath his fat forked tongue, Aziraphale’s cock pulsed, and Crowley tasted the musk-tinged flavour of him. The mingled smell of bare skin and powder and the tang of his groin formed an overwhelming perfume; he felt drunk on it. Intoxicated by the trembling of his legs as he sucked his cock. Aziraphale ground down on Crowley’s face, letting out an appalled gasp as he did so, which only made Crowley growl, grab his hips, and pull him in deeper.<br/>
<br/>
“Ohhhh. Oh my!” was all Aziraphale could manage. Crowley’s hands ran over his hips, sliding in and around the curves of him, under the layers of his still-clothed upper body, then down, letting his fingernails scrape along his naked sides. Aziraphale bowed backwards, rising and shuddering.<br/>
<br/>
Crowley wrenched his face away, his lips glistening with the wetness of precum and saliva. “Yes?” He coaxed, “Good, yeah?” Aziraphale twisted beneath him, throat ringing with sounds of surrender. “Talk to me. Tell me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes!” The word was wrung out of him.<br/>
<br/>
It was all he needed. Crowley sunk back down onto him, filling his whole mouth with Aziraphale. His thickened tongue slid up and down, sucking, wanting, loving. Taking. He could feel the head of Aziraphale’s penis bump the back of his throat, and he numbed his gag reflex with a thought, letting him thrust in even further.<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale’s breathing was labored. He strained against his handcuffs, shimmied his calf muscles uselessly in struggle, and keened desperately. Crowley did not let up one iota as he devoured him.<br/>
<br/>
“I love this. I love you. You taste like wine, you taste like heaven,” Crowley was muttering mindless nothings as he ravaged him with his sainted, cursed, hellish tongue.<br/>
<br/>
“Please. Please more!” Aziraphale cried out.<br/>
<br/>
“Damn, there’s not enough of me for all of you,” Crowley chucked, bringing a slick fingertip to slide down the crevasse of Aziraphale’s arse. He rubbed back and forth against that sensitive part of him. “I want you all, I want all of me in all of you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes,” the angel panted. “Take me, have me. I want you in me now.”<br/>
<br/>
“I love it when you’re demanding,” he confessed, slithering around his body. He rolled Aziraphale over and dragged his bare backside to press against Crowley’s fabric-clad cock, curling his arms around him as Aziraphale stretched against the restraints. “Your arms feel alright if I do this?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh dear God yes! Green!”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s m’boy,” he let the epithet slip out under his breath, and Aziraphale groaned. Through his black underwear, damp with his own juices, he rubbed and rutted between Aziraphale’s cheeks, bringing himself back to hardness. With one of his hands draped over Aziraphale’s side stroking the angel’s cock, he used the other to work his own member out from the crotch of his g-string. He didn’t remove the scrap of black cotton and lace but instead relished the way the elastic bound him, the stretch of the fabric pulling his balls up in strict confinement. Aziraphale squiggled beneath him, his glorious arse bumping up against his shaft.<br/>
<br/>
“All the way to France,” Crowley chided as he broke contact for the first time during their act. “Into the nightmare of the Revolution. Into the danger of the Bastille.”<br/>
<br/>
He slid backwards, still stroking himself, letting his fingers move his foreskin over the head, then back, feeling the pinch of the g-string tucked in against him. He watched the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s body, giddy with the fact that he didn’t have to breath, but that he chose to allow his corporeal form to do as it was designed to do.<br/>
<br/>
“Against all orders. Against common sense you go. Wearing an outfit like that.” He stretched over to the nightstand and opened a drawer, removing the small foil packet and a pump filled with thick gel. “I’m gonna use protection. Keep you spotless.” He rolled the condom on, then brought the vial to the bed. He doused his hand with a few pumps of the gel and ran his palms together to warm it. His one hand returned to his own dick, and the other slowly played down Aziraphale’s crack.</p><p>The angel's panting became more pronounced as Crowley massaged his hole, letting a finger breach him just barely as he ran his hand up and down the expanse. He knew this wouldn’t take long. Aziraphale was tight, even without his ankles bound by 18th century court wear, and his own cock was aching.</p><p>He pressed his chest against Aziraphale’s broad, brocaded back and hissed, “Quite a recklessss thing to do. And all for a bite of brioche?”<br/>
<br/>
“For you.” Aziraphale’s voice was wrecked. “To tempt you. Oh please. Please.”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley let his eyes fall shut. He had one digit fully within him now, pressed up to the knuckles, and he leaned in as Aziraphale all but wailed and begged to be taken. He slid out, reapplied more lube and entered him again. Oh, this was perfection. He pressed his own cock into his fist, moving in a reality-blurring atmosphere of sensuality. Pretty soon another finger was added to the first, and his cock slid slick towards Aziraphale’s widened hole. Feeling the muscles unclench, Crowley finally slid his fingers away and let his cock enter.<br/>
<br/>
The sound Aziraphale made. Oh, the sounds he made.<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck, angel.”<br/>
<br/>
Slowly at first, gently, (although his demonic nature seethed for furious movement) Crowley slid into him. He buried his face into the soft curls at the back of his head, inhaling the scent of him. One hand found purchase under Aziraphale’s arm, and the other against his chest and he held him there for a maddeningly long moment, simply sunk deep into him, being together. Being one.<br/>
<br/>
“I have you,” he breathed, and with a snap, he released the cuffs. The weight of him fell back, an instantaneous heaviness and pressure. Crowley held him as Aziraphale pulled his wrists away from the headboard with another arousing sigh, his surely-aching muscles returning to their normal position. Crowley kissed the nape of his neck again and again.<br/>
<br/>
Reality got no less blurry as they found their rhythm. They rocked in locked motion, Crowley drawing out shallowly only to slam back in. He couldn’t find enough places to let his hands roam. From Aziraphale’s hips to the softness of his waist, the plushness of his arse, and then finally down to wrap around his cock, Crowley's own breathing began to grow ragged. His face was smothered by the heavy decorative jacket, and the tails kept getting in the way. He could feel the heat of exertion pouring from beneath it.<br/>
<br/>
Their movements grew in intensity, the bed making an ungodly racket as the iron headboard bounced harshly against the wall, the metal-on-metal of the abandoned cuffs ringing with every thrust.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale eked out the words as the movement of their bodies grew frenzied. “Oh no! Oh my! Ahhhhh!”<br/>
<br/>
With one final thrust, the angel gushed over Crowley’s hand, his hips careening in a staccato motion as he came like a warm flood.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh lord. I’m close.” Crowley panted into his back. “I’m close! I’m going to come!”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, oh oh,” the angel moaned. “On my face.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ngk,” Crowley swallowed. “Nhoooo I’ll get you all full of it.”<br/>
<br/>
“I want you to. I would love you to. I want it. I do!”<br/>
<br/>
“But, your clothes!”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll miracle them!”<br/>
<br/>
Crowley felt his body warning him it was now or never. His nerves sang, the press of his orgasm about to tip over the edge. He sucked in a breath and shot his hand, still covered in Aziraphale’s spend, down to physically hold himself back. “OK GAAAAAAA FUCK fuck! Turn over, turn over!”<br/>
<br/>
Drawing himself out he flipped the angel bodily and straddled Aziraphale’s face. Threw back his head as he yanked off the condom and took himself in hand, rubbing hard and fast. At the very last moment he looked down to see the angel, eyes clouded with shameless desire, pink tongue protruding as if about to taste a most desired treat.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy Kingdom of… Christ… Oh fuck!” Crowley cursed as he spilled himself into Aziraphale’s mouth, his whole body thrumming with the release. He tried his best to aim, but his arms shook, and he gasped again, a string of consonants lacking any sort of meaning as he pulled himself away and collapsed on the bed in a daze.</p><p>* * *</p><p>“Excuse my hyperbole,” Aziraphale said softly against Crowley’s chest, “but I am quite deliriously in love with you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Not being hyperbolic.” Crowley reclined on the bed, his legs spread wide with the angel nestled between them as their breathing leveled and returned to normal. “I’m sick with you. You probably caught it from me.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “Love sick. It’s a thing.”<br/>
<br/>
“Goddamn right it is.” He sighed and drew Aziraphale further into an embrace, folding him into his coat which he wrapped like wings around him. “You are glorious and good and I love you and I will suffer forever this love of you if I can at all help it.”<br/>
<br/>
Aziraphale snuggled his face to Crowley’s breast. They’d miracled themselves free of the physicality of their lovemaking, the saltwater coatings, the sticky mess, but Crowley noticed that there remained a slight aura of disobedience to the ruffle around his neck.<br/>
<br/>
“Do you think we should wear these all the time?” Crowley asked.<br/>
<br/>
“I think we’re an odd enough couple as it is.” Aziraphale was happy. He was relaxed into a puddle between Crowley’s legs, and Crowley loved it. “Perhaps it’s time I got rid of some of those things I’ve kept for too long. Make some more space for the new. That is, if we can help each other carry forth the meaning of our attire, rather than the actual items themselves.” He gazed lovingly at Crowley and smiled his bastard grin. “Also, I don’t think they’d let you into Tesco without any trousers.”</p><p> </p><p>-fin-</p><p><a id="violet" name="violet"></a>1.<strong>Violet Marmalade</strong> <a href="#violetback">Back</a></p><p><em>Smashed up flowers boiled in a pot sounded awful, but it was actually delectable, which made it a fitting pleasure in Crowley’s mind.</em><br/>
<br/>
8 oz violet flowers<br/>
1 C. sugar<br/>
1 C. water<br/>
<br/>
Crush violets in mortar. Boil sugar and water to a syrup and when boiling, add the flowers. Allow it to come to boil five or six times over a slow fire. Stir with wooden spoon and pour into little pots for storage. To use: swirl into frozen custard with a smidgen of honey and a dash of hot cinnamon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please follow On Our Side on <a href="https://twitter.com/OurSideZine/status/1315252405261553664">Twitter</a> or <a href="https://oursidezine.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> for more info on Good Omens LGBTQIA+ stuff and upcoming events!  </p><p>Super-huge thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzerainty/pseuds/capetowndnp">capetowndnp</a> for the beta read! I was inspired by <a href="http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/gingerhaole/pseuds/gingerhaole">Ginger Haole's art</a> for my take on Crowley's favorite outfit. <a href="https://gingerhaole.tumblr.com/post/613774605301301248/another-coloring-page-for-you-guys-this-was-one">You can find a coloring page of it here</a>.<br/>Feel free to reach out or comment on any sort of ol' thing you wanna chat about on my Tumblr <a href="https://suvroc.tumblr.com/">here</a>! Thank you for reading. 🙇</p></blockquote></div></div>
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